Spiderwebs
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: I used to think Percy was a bit like a spider. But maybe he’s really more like a web. There was a time... when he cared. Ron muses. Slight HBP spoilers.


Disclaimer: I do not own Ron, Percy or any of the other member of the Weasley clan.

Summary: I used to think Percy was a bit like a spider. But maybe he's really more like a web. There was a time when he cared. Ron muses. Slight HBP spoilers.

Warnings: Proof-read but un-beta'ed. I thought perhaps this was a bit… deep for Ron and considered changing it to George; however, I immediately found the flaw with that because George is not arachnaphobic.

_Spiderwebs_

I was five years old when my big brother Percy acted like a real big brother for the first time I can recall. It would not be the last time, but I suppose it was one of the only times I really appreciated it.

Bill, Charlie, Dad and the twins had all gone off to try their hand at Muggle-style camping. Mum stayed home with Ginny and I, and Percy, who claimed to be feeling a bit under the weather. Looking back, though, I'll bet he just didn't care to engage in such a frivolous activity. But whatever the reason was for his staying behind, I'm glad he did.

It was around two in the morning by the clock in my room. I don't remember what woke me, but I woke up, all right, and staring me in the face was a _spider_. Huge bugger, honestly, scared me to death. The bloody thing was hanging- no, _dangling_- inches from my face, just menacing me.

I screamed. Can you really blame me? I quieted down fast, though- Mum and Ginny would be asleep.

Normally I would've run and gotten Bill or, in a pinch, Charlie, to eradicate the intruder for me. Mum and Dad didn't believe in killing spiders- 'set them free in the garden,' they'd scold. But my trusty brothers understood that I didn't want the damn things set free; I wanted them removed from the planet completely! Bill and Charlie always obliged my pleas to squash them.

I was savior-less that night, though. No Bill to take care of the spider, nor Charlie. Not even Fred or George, who would laugh at me for ages but eventually kill the thing anyway. I couldn't ask Mum. And I certainly couldn't do it myself.

Instead I grabbed a blanket and a pillow and slouched down the stairs. I can see myself now, sulking and pouting, trying not to look scared stiff, which is what I was. I planned to sleep on the sofa. My plans were thwarted.

I wasn't alone in the living room. Already occupying the sofa, curled up under a blanket of his own, was Percy, a book in one hand and candle in the other. He looked up when I came in, and the firelight glinted softly on his glasses.

"Ronald?" It was the year that he called everyone by their full names; I never asked him why. "What are you doing up?"

"Thirsty," I remember lying. I didn't want him to know the truth and risk a lecture on overcoming one's fears. Yes, even at nine years old, Percy was a die-hard lecturer. But he wasn't a complete idiot and I wasn't a good liar. He saw right through it.

"What's really wrong?" He used to be concerned; I remember that. There was a time when he cared, maybe too much. Maybe he used it all up.

I bit my cheek before whispering, "Spider," in my quietest tone. I braced myself for the speech.

It didn't come. Instead Percy looked at me critically then, very softly, asked, "Can't sleep with a spider in the room, then, can you?" I shook my head soundlessly.

He stood, replaced his book on the table. The quilt fell around his slippers; he stepped over it and took me by the hand. I remember being too shocked to protest.

He said nothing as we climbed the stairs, mindful of the creaky steps. He still said nothing when we came to my room on the top floor, instead studying my bed thoroughly until he spotted the culprit on the floor. Then, wincing, looking a bit sick… he stepped on it.

I was awed. Astounded. Percy, the spider-squisher. Percy, my unexpected avenger. Percy, my brother, my protector. I should have hugged him. Instead I just stared.

He looked back at me, considerably green and shaking a bit, and grinned. "Bill told me before he left that I might have to," he whispered. "It's _bloody_ nasty, though."

I laughed as he rubbed my hair and went back downstairs. And he was my hero for a few days, before the incident faded from memory and I gave it no more consideration. I thought nothing of it, in fact, until much, much later.

Things have changed. Of course they have, of course they must. And I think of that tiny act of heroism almost every day now. Almost twelve years have gone by and almost nothing remains the same. I am seventeen now and no longer like that; no longer a child, none of us are, really. Not anymore. And Percy is never around now. For a time I barely considered him my brother.

When he first left, in fact, and I thought long and hard about it, I compared him to a spider. There were undeniable parallels, admittedly. I lay awake that night, staring at a spider in the corner of my room. Dark, creeping, unpleasant. Venomous. Poisonous.

Hurtful.

My hatred of spiders paled in comparison to the hatred I felt for my brother- not a hero anymore. Just a traitor.

Months went by without a word from the turncoat. Then his letter came and my disgust with him intensified. That Christmas he returned his sweater. We didn't see him for almost a year.

But a year gave me time to think. It gave me time to question, wonder. A person doesn't just disappear like that. The good in someone can't just vanish. I had no idea why, or how, Percy had changed. But I came to the grudging conclusion that he wasn't- couldn't be- gone. He was just very, very well hidden under his beloved stony mask. A coward, perhaps. But anything was better than a traitor.

After this Christmas and his brief appearance I believe that even more. A coward, yes, weak but not filthy. Pitiable, perhaps, but not contemptible. My brother the spider-squisher, Percy as he used to be, had been mutated and concealed. But he's not all that different. Not when it really comes down to it. I used to think of him as a spider: controlling, malicious, ugly. Now I wonder if he's truly more like a spider's web.

Now I lie staring at the same corner of the room and yes, I think- I think that's it. Sticky, and unpleasant. But fragile and manipulated, not manipulating. Tangled, confused and clinging to anything that can offer it safety. My wall, in the case of the web itself. The Ministry, in the case of my wayward brother. And can anyone truly be hated for self-preservation?

No, I decided. No, they can't. He's a bit less like a spider than I thought; a bit more like a web. I don't have to like him, but I do think I pity him. I feel bad for Percy. I don't think he meant for things to be like this. None of us did.

And I think understanding this may even be the first step towards forgiving him. You can't hate someone forever, after all.


End file.
